


To Believe in Forever

by Mssmithlove



Series: Happiness Awaits [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: A tiny bit of smut, Best Friends, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Love, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, John Plays Rugby, M/M, Prom, Teen!John, Teen!Sherlock, Teenagers, Teenlock, rugby!john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:20:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3419111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mssmithlove/pseuds/Mssmithlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TeenLock OneShot! Sherlock and John meet in high school and become friends. They find themselves confronting their feelings on the most romantic night in High School: Prom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Believe in Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so earlier today I read a terribly disturbing Johnlock story. I won't say what it was about or the title (and it was a very well-written and well done story, just the subject matter was disturbing). Anyway, it made me so upset that I felt like I really needed to create a world, even just a oneshot, where John and Sherlock are happy and adorable and precious. So the result is this. Oh and I have no idea if Prom happens in the UK…does it? Eh, pretend it does. Enjoy this tiny little oneshot and lovey dovey Teenlock!

The glares and the strange looks and the blatant staring weren't unusual. High school is very long for freaks and after three years, Sherlock is very much used to the constant attention. He was Sherlock Holmes afterall, boy genius and/or lunatic depending on who you asked, kid who blew up the science lab four times and informed his entire Sophomore English class that Mr. Sabel had deep scars on his wrists from attending BDSM cubs as a submissive on the weekends. Sherlock Holmes who the football team had attempted to bully his first year at school, but finding out all too quickly that not only was Sherlock far too clever, but that he was also trained in self-defense. Add it to the list of oddities about the kid. They backed off soon after that. That didn't stop for the staring or the whispers or the occassional 'Freak' that rang out the halls as he passed by. But overall, he was left alone. And he wouldn't have had it any other way.

Or so he thought.

Because now, he was still receiving glares and strange looks and blatant staring for an entirely different reason. A year ago, the looks had changed from fear and disgust to almost anger. Girls would shoot him murderous glances, looking for all the world like they were barely containing themselves from slapping him. Guys would crack their knuckles as they walked by, sometimes attempt to trip him, not so subtle hints at their rage.

Six months later and up to now the looks were those of…wonder? Awe? Curiosity? Maybe even…interest? Heads tilted to the side instead of downward. Whispers were no longer spat but well… whispered. Glares lost their bite, eyes simply narrowing in consideration.  _What is it about you? What does he see that we don't see? How did you land him?_

Because a year ago, Sherlock Holmes became John Watson's boyfriend.

And truthfully, he was probably thinking the same things all the others were.

He wanted to turn to every lookie-loo and say _I have no idea. I am just as curious as you are as to why he wants me. But he does. And I'm not going to question it._

At the beginning, people were pretty upset. John Watson?  _Our_ John Watson? Star rugby player? Gorgeous blonde bloke and the object of every girl's affection? With freak Sherlock Holmes? What had he done to him? What had Sherlock Holmes  _done_  to John Watson to turn him… _gay_?

What had he done indeed. It was a valid question, although a laughable one. Like he could do anything to make John Watson do something he didn't want to do. Had these imbeciles met John? The boy was stubborn as hell. You didn't tell John Watson what to do.

"It all started in Biology class," John would muse as they lay on his bed after delivering each other teenage-quick orgasms and flopping boneless on top of one another.

Sherlock would laugh because even if it was correct, it still sounded so moronic.

"You were the prettiest boy in class," John would whisper, stroking Sherlock's hair, and Sherlock would poke him in the side with a glare because he wasn't some  _girl._

"And I was the hot, unattainable rugby player," John would fan himself as though he couldn't even take his own attractiveness. "And lucky for me, there was an open seat right next to that gorgeous bloke that apparently everyone was terrified of."

Sherlock would snort.

"And from then on, I was positively smitten."

Sherlock would scoff. "I didn't speak to you for a month."

John would laugh and pull him just a bit closer. "I know. You had no idea what you were doing to me. It only made me want you more."

"I was a dick," Sherlock would counter.

"That you were," John said. "And then I found out that I love your dick, so it was okay." He was still laughing like this was great fun, while Sherlock attempted not to sulk because really, that month of ignoring John had almost killed him. Something he'd only admitted one time to this boy and refused to repeat again was that day John walked into biology and locked his ocean blue eyes on the curly-haired genius, Sherlock had all but fallen flat on his face in love.

Of course it wasn't love at first sight. Sherlock had attended a single rugby game the year before. In some sick cosmic joke, Principal Turner thought that since Sherlock did nothing but disrupt detention that he was almost always in anyway, how about they try a different tactic and force him to do something social. Of course, Sherlock was certain it was less about socializing and more about torture. Make the weird kid go spend time with people that hated him outside of school, after the hours he was already forced to spend with them. That'll show him.

So Sherlock had gone to the game. He was able to bring his books with him and planned to do homework the entire time, seeing as he didn't know a thing about rugby or care to.

Of course then the speakers had crackled irritatingly, and a booming voice came over the intercom to announce the players, and Sherlock unwillingly looked up just to shoot a glare in the direction of the announcer, when John Watson's name was called and the crowd went wild. Sherlock was so startled he searched out who was being praised in such a way and found John blushing madly at the attention in the middle of the field, looking shy and sweet while still simultaneously seeming tough and a little intimidating, all five foot six of him. His jersey was pulled tight to his defined muscles by the wind, and even in stripes his slight by powerful body was rather enticing. Sherlock's mouth had gone dry and he watched that blonde head dominate the field for the rest of the hour he was required to be there and even after.

That body and that blonde hair haunted him in the hallways. He'd catch glimpses of John between classes or at lunch laughing with his mates and grinning from ear to ear.

And Sherlock would ignore the twist in his gut, wishing he was the one to make John laugh. Make John smile. Make John scream his name.

It was a hopeless infatuation really. Natural for a kid his age. No reason to be alarmed.

And then John walked into his biology class the following year. And looked at him. Really looked at him. And smiled. The most genuine, kind smile, and made a beeline for the empty chair at Sherlock's table and Sherlock had turned his scarlet-red face away and bit his cheek and prayed to all that was holy to make this boy leave before the proximity of his body made Sherlock come in his pants.

Breathing had been the hardest part that month. Sherlock was sure if he let go of all the tension in his body and blew out a breath, his body would betray him and John would know. He was terrified if he breathed in and responded to anything John said, because John took it upon himself to have a one-sided conversation with him, Sherlock would say something stupid or rude or something that made little sense and John would stop talking to him for good.

"Do you want to go grab some food with me after school?" John asked almost a month to the day they started as lab partners as the bell rang to signal class ending.

"What?!" Sherlock actually squawked like a bloody bird, so surprised by the question, he'd forgotten his vow of silence.

"He speaks!" John cheered. "Oh ladies and gentlemen, Sherlock Holmes does have a voice!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, although the sensation of actually having a conversation with John was overwhelming.

"So, yes, let's grab take-out or something and head back to my place," John continued. "I'll meet you out front after the last bell."

"I-"

"See you in a bit!" John cut him off and booked it out of the lab before Sherlock could say anything else.

And that's how their friendship began. It was odd enough being friends with someone you'd like to have bent you over the desk they were working on, but really it was just odd to be friends with someone at all.

Sherlock attempted to keep their friendship discreet. He ducked his head when he saw John in the hallways and only spoke to him in biology and when they were alone after school, terrified if people found out John was spending time with him, John would become a social outcast and lose his status as Mr. Perfect.

"Are you, like, I dunno, like ashamed to be seen with me or something?" John asked a few weeks later.

Leave it to John to ask the blunt questions. "Why would you ask me that?" Sherlock asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

John shrugged. "Well, it seems like you only like to talk to me when we either are required to or are alone. Are you wanting to keep our friendship a secret?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, I do want to keep our friendship a secret."

Watching those blue eyes fall with hurt made Sherlock's heart ache so badly, he had to physically restrain himself from reaching out.

"Oh," John murmured, looking away.

"I don't… I don't want you enduring what I endure every day, John," Sherlock whispered.

Those blue eyes snapped back to his attention. "What?"

"I'm…different. People don't… I don't have friends. I just have you. And I would never want you to be in that same situation. You have tons of friends and if they saw you associating with me, they might… well they probably wouldn't like it."

John's jaw tightened. "Since when do you care what other people think?"

"I care what they think about  _you_  John!" Sherlock cried. "I would never wish my social status on you. You're very beloved at our school and I would never want that to end for you because of me."

Sherlock watched a shift in John's eyes and a hardness took over. "You listen to me, Sherlock Holmes," John all but growled. "I don't give a toss what those wankers think about our friendship. If they have an issue, then they weren't really my friend anyway, now were they?"

Sherlock had to look away. "But your rugby mates-"

"My rugby mates should let me be friends with whoever I want to be friends with. I'm not ashamed to be friends with you, so stop treating me like you're ashamed to be friends with me."

Sherlock looked back, eyes wide. "I-I'm sorry, I would never-I'm not ashamed at all, John. You're…you're my best friend."

His cheeks blazed red and John had grinned. "Good. Then I'll see you at my lunch table tomorrow."

And that's how they started spending time in public together.

A year. A beautiful, perfect year of friendship, all blossoming from a biology class. And maybe it was okay to be secretly in love with his best friend because Sherlock had never been happier.

"So, who are you taking to prom?" John asked one afternoon as they sat on the floor of his bedroom John sprawled out on his stomach while Sherlock was cross-legged with his back against the bed.

Sherlock glanced up at him. "My girlfriend John, obviously. Haven't you met her? Her name is Does Not Exist and we're very happy together."

John burst out laughing, rolling over on his back. "Come on! There has to be someone you like!"

 _Dangerous territory_ , Sherlock's mind blinked at him. "If there were, it's not like they'd be interested in me." And why in the fuck had he just said that?

John frowned. "Why would you say that?"

Sherlock shook his head. "It doesn't matter, I'm not going to prom."

John's eyes widened in surprise. "Why not?"

"Seriously? You didn't really think I was going, did you?"

Something passed over John's face. Hurt? Worry? Panic?

"Everyone's going," John mumbled.

"Ah, and who is the lucky lady you'll be taking then?"

John…well John actually blushed. "Not sure," he said softly, refusing to meet Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock tilted his head. John was a notorious flirt and very loved by all girls. Why he would be nervous to ask someone to prom was properly idiotic.

"Well I'm sure she'll say yes," Sherlock replied cautiously, feeling very out of his depth. It wasn't helping that he was being ripped in half inside, part of him aching with jealousy and the other part wanting desperately to reassure John that no one would ever reject him because he was perfect.

John's head snapped up and Sherlock could practically see the plan forming in his head. "You know what we should do?" He asked excitedly.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Not in the slightest."

"We should go stag!" John cheered like this was the most brilliant thing he'd ever said. "We should get a group of guys together and all just go and have fun. No dates or pressure to ask someone, just some friends hanging out."

Sherlock did not see the appeal in that for John  _at all_. Prom was essentially a night of guaranteed attention from and sex with a pretty girl. And John had his pick of the girls at school. He could practically hear the unhappy squeals of the female student body when news got out that John Watson was taking no one to prom.

"Why are you frowning?" John interrupted his thoughts. His eyes widened. "Oh god, is there someone you want to ask? Jesus, can you just tell me Sherlock? I won't make you go with me if there is someone else you'd rather go with."

Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek hard. The phrasing of that sentence was so patently ridiculous, he wanted to laugh.  _No John, there is no one else I would rather do anything with than you._

"I just wasn't really planning on going at all," Sherlock said instead. "But the stag things sounds…interesting."

John looked relieved and Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Did John really think he'd ruin something that he knew would make John happy?

"It's settled then," John grinned and rolled back on to his stomach.

That's how Sherlock found himself standing in the doorway of John's house, dressed in his best black suit. John's mother was beaming at him and truthfully made him feel like a million bucks. His own mother ushered him inside, camera in hand, exchanging excited glances with John's mum. Sherlock rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing around to see the other boys.

No one else seemed to be there and just as Sherlock opened his mouth, a sharp intake of breath was heard at the top of the stairs. Sherlock turned to see John in a dark grey suit and dark purple button down, a silver tie wrapped tightly around his neck. His nearly shaggy blonde hair was perfectly messed and Sherlock was staring. His eyes traveled up to meet John's and he blushed hard and the corners of John's mouth quirked in a smile.

"Well don't you clean up nice," John teased as he made his way down the stairs.

Sherlock nodded and croaked, "As do you," then turned back to their mothers, feeling oddly out of breath. "Where is everyone else?"

"Oh," John said, seeming to attempt to sound mournful. "Everyone else got dates at the last minute. Seems the stag thing is only appealing if you don't actually have someone to go with."

Sherlock couldn't turn around and look at him. He looked so beautiful all dressed up and it took everything in Sherlock's power to quiet his lower half and remain calm. "Hm," he replied. He chose not to bring up the fact that John had several someone's he could have 'actually gone with' because they'd exhausted that discussion already.

Their mothers then began fussing and snapping photos and chattering excitedly about how dapper they both looked ("I prefer the term debonair," Sherlock murmured and John sniggered) and then they were in a cab and taking off to dinner.

They sat at their usual table at Angelo's and John laughed at Sherlock's deductions and beamed at him when he ordered for them both and Sherlock began to feel rather hot.

And not in a good way.

In a spiraling out of control, what the hell am I doing, what the fuck is going on kind of way. Because this… felt like a date. With John. A date with John Watson. And as many times as Sherlock had pictured something like this with John, some sort of scenario where they were both dressed up and out on the town, smiling at each other, touching on accident and then on purpose, planning kisses at the end of the night, this moment actually hurt. It hurt knowing that this was fake.

This wasn't actually a date. This was two friends hanging out, going to a high school event because they were mates and that's what mates did together. Sherlock did his very best to ignore the pain in his heart as they headed off to the dance.

It was dreadfully dull and for once, Sherlock was very thankful for that. He didn't want to continue feeling close to John, continue to feel like he was the person John wanted to be with like that.

Girls were falling all over themselves to get close to John, walking by him every few minutes and giggling to their friends if he smiled or winked. A few brave souls tapped Sherlock on the shoulder and asked whom John liked or if Sherlock would talk to him for them. Of course he did no such thing, stating that if they were interested, they should talk to John themselves, then stalked off. He wasn't his bloody wingman.

He'd just about had it with the whole evening when John suddenly turned and said, "Ready to go?"

"God, yes," Sherlock said and took off for the doors, listening to John laugh as he followed.

The sinking, aching feeling Sherlock had at dinner returned as they settled back in the cab. John was grinning at him like he'd had the best night of his life and if Sherlock didn't know better, he would have felt like he was dropping him off after a wonderful date night. It was hateful. It hurt so much.

"I had fun with you tonight," John said from across the cab.

"Yeah, it was good," Sherlock nodded, refusing to look over at him.

"You okay?" John asked and Sherlock nodded again.

"Yup. Just tired."

It was quiet for a moment and then Sherlock heard the seat shift as John leaned over and put his hand on Sherlock's knee. "Hey. Seriously, are you alright?"

And that's what did it. "Stop it, John," Sherlock hissed sharply.

John narrowed his eyes but didn't lift his hand. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Sherlock spat. "Nothing is wrong. Stop treating me like I'm some girl you're into. Like I'm your date. I'm obviously not so please," Sherlock had lost the viciousness in his words and now sounded pathetically broken. "Please just…just stop," he whispered.

He wanted to cry. It was so stupid and embarrassing but he did. He wanted to crawl into his bed and weep and feel sorry for himself because now he'd truly gotten a taste of what a proper date with John could be like, with the boy he loved so much and he wanted it to be real so badly.

The cab rolled to a halt in front of Sherlock's house before John could respond and Sherlock scrambled out, slamming the door and taking off.

Before he could reach the house, he heard another door slam and the taxi rolled away. Sherlock whirled around to find John running up after him.

"Please, John-"

"Did you want it to be a date?" John asked breathlessly.

Sherlock closed his eyes. "John, don't."

"No, you 'don't,' Sherlock!" John cried. "Just answer me. Did you want tonight to be a date?"

Sherlock exhaled. "I know it wasn't." His voice came out small and shaky. "So why does it matter?"

John stepped closer to him. "Do you…do you like me?"

Like.

What an understatement.

"Please," Sherlock said again, biting back the tears now. "I know, okay? I know you're interested in girls and I'm really glad we're friends so please, please just drop it."

John stared at him for a long moment. Then he started to laugh. It started as a small chuckle, a gentle shake of his shoulders. Then a louder giggle bubbled over his lips and soon John was bent over, cracking up.

Sherlock's face burned. "Well, I'm glad this was so amusing to you," he said bitterly and turned toward the door.

"Wait!" John said through his laughter, grabbing Sherlock's hand and spinning him around. "Come here, you great git."

And suddenly, Sherlock was closer to John then he'd ever been. John's hand came to his jaw while the other rested on his hip. Sherlock froze.

"Tonight was a date," John breathed, looking up into Sherlock's eyes, tucking his fingers into the curls falling just at the base of Sherlock's neck. "No one canceled. I didn't invite anyone else. I wanted… I wanted to go to prom with you."

Sherlock couldn't move. This didn't feel real.

"I lied about not having anyone to go with as I'm sure you can guess. I was asked a few times but I turned everyone down. I know I shouldn't have tricked you but I didn't think you were into me and it was low but I thought maybe if I could show you a really good night that maybe you'd be interested." John exhaled. "I've been mad for you since the first time I saw you in biology."

"I am interested," Sherlock breathed, shocking himself at his own words. "I like you John. I'm…I'm a bit mad for you as well."

John grinned, then giggled, then tugged at the back of Sherlock's neck. "Can I…can I just…"

And then John's lips connected with Sherlock's and Sherlock was wrapping John up in his arms and after that, things just sort of…were.

They walked into school the following Monday, hand in hand, and waited for the dust to settle.

Now, things  _had_  finally settled. Sherlock walked tall in the halls, proud to belong to the one and only John Watson, and no one batted an eye. Sure people still looked, and sure people didn't understand. But they accepted it. And that's all Sherlock could have asked for. For John's sake.

And now Prom, and their one-year anniversary, was around the corner, and Sherlock was actually excited. He'd chosen a navy suit to wear this year, wanting something original and different.

Because tonight would be different.

Because tonight, Sherlock was going to give himself fully to John Watson.

They'd talked about it at length, and agreed they wanted it to happen on a night that was meaningful to them both.

And as cliché as it was, Prom was the night of their anniversary. Really, it couldn't be helped.

Sherlock tugged at his cuffs as he raised his hand to knock on the door of John's house, his mother yet again following close behind.

John answered the door this time, whipping it open only seconds after Sherlock knocked, and Sherlock stopped breathing.

John was dressed in all black, black suit, black button-down, shiny black tie, hair a bit shorter this year but still slightly messy and perfect. In every possible way, he was the definition of perfect.

"Hi," he grinned.

"Hi," Sherlock squeaked back.

They went through the motions of photos, barely speaking but beaming at the camera, arms wrapped around each other.

As they climbed into the cab, the driver turned and said "Where to, boys?"

Sherlock and John turned to each other.

"Hotel first," they both said together, eyes locked on each other and John gave the address to the cabbie.

John checked them in and made their way to room 221. They didn't touch in the elevator but Sherlock was vibrating with anticipation and nerves. He had no idea why he was so nervous. They'd done plenty of sexual things together. It wasn't that big of a deal.

Except it was. Sherlock knew it was. And he wanted it to be perfect.

John slid the key into the lock and pushed open the door, Sherlock following close behind.

The sound of the door closing echoed loud in the quiet room.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment.

"We don't have to-"

"I want to." Sherlock said firmly. "I want to very much."

John gave him a small smile and stepped toward him, laying a hand on his chest. "I've loved you for almost two years, Sherlock Holmes," John murmured as his fingers found the buttons to Sherlock's shirt.

"I love you too, John. So much." His voice came out as a whisper as John pushed off his jacket and dragged his shirt down his arms.

Sherlock brought his hand up to loosen John's tie and went to work on his buttons, moving slowly as John's breath sped up a bit.

They undressed each other calmly, down to their pants and then John's hands were on the back of Sherlock's thighs, lifting him up. Sherlock wrapped his legs around John's waist and bent his head down, capturing his lips as John carried him to the bed.

"God, I love you," John whispered over Sherlock's lips and laid him down on the comforter, crawling over him and kissing him again like he couldn't get enough.

"You're my whole world," Sherlock murmured. "You're my everything, John."

"You're perfect," John said as he laid kisses down Sherlock's chest. "You're so beautiful and brilliant."

"I want to be with you forever," Sherlock whispered.

"Forever," John repeated. He paused and looked up at Sherlock. "Promise, Sherlock. Promise we'll be together forever."

"I promise," Sherlock replied. "God, I promise John. I want to give you everything. Forever. I promise."

It was awkward, because of course it was awkward. There was not enough lubrication, then too much lubrication, then the condom packet wouldn't open, and then the condom was to slick with lubrication to get on.

And then it hurt so much more then Sherlock had anticipated, but John kissed him and held him through it, and paused when asked and wiped his tears. And finally,  _finally_ when they found their rhythm and pleasures alike, and Sherlock's name was falling out of John's mouth like a prayer, Sherlock sobbed his own release and John tumbled right after him.

They held on to each other, unable to let go for a long while. Sherlock vaguely wondered if they'd make it to Prom at all. When he realized he didn't care, he held John a little tighter to him.

"Say it again," John whispered, his lips moving against Sherlock's shoulder.

"I promise," Sherlock murmured into John's hair. "I'll love you forever, John. I promise."

"Forever," John replied.

And they both kept their promise.


End file.
